


The world is full of peril and in it, there are many dark places.

by DarthRevandidnowrong



Category: Alternate Universe: Lord of the Rings, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Literally no-one asked for this the sequel, This has been in my head all day dear god just let it leave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthRevandidnowrong/pseuds/DarthRevandidnowrong
Summary: A young Guardian of Mirkwood is sent deep into Mordor, to assassinate a creature out of legend, one of Morgoths own monsters. All those thoughts leave her when she discovers that not all is as her Lord Thranduil seems to believe...





	The world is full of peril and in it, there are many dark places.

Rey had been ‘allowed’ into Mordor by the Rangers of the Gate not three days before she saw the first signs of civilization. Crouching down just below the ridge of a hill, she peered over the ridge to see a slaver camp, Orcs and Uruks scurrying about the camp like so many ants. She observed with an immortals dispassionate eye the still forms of the few slaves within the camp, bodies mottled with bruises and scarred from the whip. She watched, her Lord Thranduil’s command wandering through her head ‘I hear tell of a Morgothi who survived the War. Hunt them down for me, and be welcomed home… Do not, and you shall never see the boughs of Mirkwood again, nor smell the sweet scent of her trees.’

She had been shaken to her core by the order, not least because a _Morgothi_ was her target. The Morgothi had been Morgoth’s chosen bodyguards, Men and Orcs who had proven to be exceptionally capable at the spilling of blood, Orc or Elven alike. And while Morgoth had, very naturally, _NOT_ required actual protection, he had sent his Morgothi out into the world as assassins, saboteurs and thieves. Rey had lived six hundred years within Mirkwood, coming to Taur-nu-Fuin as a young girl, carrying the head of an Uruk Captain named Plutt in her fist, and she had grown stronger and faster than almost any Elf living. Only the greatest, such as Thranduil’s own son, surpassed her, and yet she feared being strong enough for a confrontation with even a single Morgothi.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she began to think on how to find the Morgothi, _perhaps by listening in on other Orc conversations?_ when she noticed with a start that she was sharing her ridgeline with someone, or some _thing_ else. Carefully looking out of the corner of her eye, not wishing to move lest the scrub which had evidently provided her with some cover be disturbed, she saw a _huge_ Uruk, easily seven feet tall, clad in strange armour. It was golden-green, but had sections of darkness that she _swore_ moved as she watched. There were spikes crudely welded to the armour, and it wielded a long sword across its back, a long knife at its hip, and some kind of crude bow carried over the sword’s scabbard. The creature looked capable, indeed it was sitting atop the ridge as still as an Elf. The Morgothi? Surely, she could not have been _this_ lucky?

Carefully beginning to move, she levelled her spear and shield, parting gifts from one of her closest friends, Finn, at the creature, who smoothly pivoted at the faint rustle leaving the scrub caused. Its eyes, black as night, widened in shock as it saw a Mirkwood warrior, clad in armour that most of Middle-Earth had not even _seen_ in hundreds of years; the full battle-regalia of the Elvish people.

It _sighed_ , as though her appearance was merely vexing, before pulling two cruel-looking hooks from its belt, both of them attached to the belt by short coils of chain, and began to run at her, moving almost as fast as an Elf. Startled into reacting, Rey slammed the shield against the ground, and angled it slightly, planning on allowing the creature to crash into her shield at an angle, to ensure that her spear could take it through the throat in the next instant. What happened next astonished her.

The creature ran _up_ her shield, flipping gracefully over her, and threw the two hooks, twin howls erupting from the throats of two Orcs that had been sneaking up the ridge, one of the Captains within the camp having evidently been more observant than Rey had given them credit for being. Its hands a blur, the creature pulled one of the howling Orcs close with the hook attached to its throat, and at the same time, smoothly drew the knife from his side, ramming the blade into its heart as it stumbled closer, still howling in agony. It pivoted and smoothly threw the blade into the second Orc’s heart, before wrenching both hooks out with a terrible lack of care for the blood and viscera that now coated its armour.

It reached down, and without ceremony dragged a _third_ Orc from the ground, slammed both of its hooks into the Orc’s shoulders, and forced it to its knees. It spoke quickly, almost harshly in Black Speech, clearly demanding _something_ of the Orc, who shook its head in violent denial, speaking urgently back, but in clearly broken Black Speech, the language of Morgoth not one that many Orcs bothered to learn. Growling in frustration, the creature _lifted_ the Orc by the hooks, and yelled, this time in Westeron, ‘Who sent you, Ratak? Don’t think I don’t _know_ how you work, you piece of _shrak._ ’ The Orc said, in a pleading tone ‘I promise, I don’t know what you’re talking about! No-one sent me! I was just- _hurrrk”_ He began choking as the pressure from the hooks increased, the Orcs throat filling with blood that poured from the wounds. “Fine! Fine” The Orc said, coughing blood from its mouth as the creature relaxed its grip on the hooks embedded in the Orc’s flesh. “Az’Larr” The Orc said weakly, “Az’Larr sent me. Heard the Morgothi was sneakin’ around, trying to kill him, so he figured he’d have you killed first. I swear, I didn’t know! He just said there was a job goin’, that’s all!” The Orc said, his voice getting more and more desperate.

The Morgothi seemed to smile, even under a helmet “Dear Ratak” it ( _He?_ ) said “Go back to Az’Larr, tell him I’m coming for him. He’ll try and kill you, so take this” He said, taking a small vial from his belt and handing it to the still kneeling Orc, who looked at it, baffled. “Throw this at the ground after you give my message, and it’ll get you out, if you’re as good as you say you are. You _owe me_ for this, understand?” The Morgothi said, his voice turning terrifying for a few moments.

“You got it boss!” The Orc said happily, apparently unconcerned about the ‘favour’ a _Morgothi_ might call from it, and somehow even _less_ concerned at the hooks still planted in its shoulders. More carefully than Rey would have believed possible from a Morgothi, he removed the hooks, and casually pushed the Orc away, turning without a concern that the Orc might stab him in the back, instead walking directly at Rey.

Swallowing hard at the prospect of fighting, Rey placed her shield in the guard the Mirkwood Guardians called ‘Fallen Willow’, a simple guard in which the shield is turned at a 45-degree angle, to become a small bulwark, the spear laid atop it to fend off foes. She thrust three times at the Morgothi, watching in blank astonishment as the three blows, thrown with all the speed and skill of a Elven warrior, were not simply parried, but _avoided_ , the first blow breezing past his shoulder, the Morgothi barely seemingly to _move_ , the second gliding past his sternum and the third was simply the creature showing off, as it stepped _up_ onto the spear as though it was the Great Road at the heart of Mirkwood, the Morgothi leaping lightly over her head to land behind her, the slight tap of a blade against her shoulder indicating that the creature could have killed her during that leap, but for some reason had elected not to do so.

She turned as quickly as she could, the _blasted shield_ getting in her way, and when she finally turned, she was astonished all over again; the Morgothi was taking off its helmet. The first thing she noticed about him was his hair; it was long and dark, but had strange flushes of white-blond streaking through it. The spikes appeared to have vanished somehow, and suddenly she noticed something else, which nearly made her stumble in shock; _The Morgothi was an Elf_. Not a twisted Elf, one of Morgoth or Sauron’s foul creatures, but a true, pure-blooded Elf. He shook out his hair, and said, in what was quite clearly a dialect of Quenya “So tell me, why in the names of the Valar is _another_ Elf sneaking around Mordor?”


End file.
